


Algae Gone Bad

by Res



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-30
Updated: 2003-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:45:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Res/pseuds/Res
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doing nothing can have bad repercussions.  Especially when the algae goes bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Algae Gone Bad

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: This came from a challenge that I caught a snippet of someone else's response to, totally out of context in an LOC, and that set off my muses for this, small, spoofish thing.
> 
> Disclaimer: Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg belong to Pet Fly. I only borrowed them, briefly.
> 
> Thanks: To Ami, for letting me use the snippet of *her* 'Algae Gone Bad' that started me off. To Sheltie, for introducing me, kicking and screaming, to the fandom.

"Algae Gone Bad"

It was months before I noticed. More weeks before I understood. And yet, I did nothing.

I mean, after all, who am I to tell Sandburg that his algae shake mix had gone bad? Especially since I finally got him to quit drinking it, when we became lovers. He decided to give them up temporarily in favor of morning makeout session. That's why he hasn't noticed that it's gone bad.

It started with little things. The pepper gone missing. The salt. A dish rag tossed on the floor. Then the little things started to get bigger: smudges of staining condiments smeared around the sink, the coffee pot filled with sugar.

I heard it, of course -- at first, I didn't really pay it any mind. I would hear soft sounds in the kitchen, but no heartbeat, not even a mouse's, and so would pass it off as the wind, or the dishwasher settling, or some mundane thing such as that. But the noises persisted and things went missing. Things that I _knew_ had been left in their proper places -- because _I_ had put them there! -- and then were nowhere to be found.

I found the stash a few weeks ago; buried in the back of the cupboard, behind the saltines. Toothpicks, pepper, salt, a bag of elbow pasta, some dental floss...even then, I did nothing. I don't know why... somehow, at the time, it seemed easier to ignore the problem, I guess. Or, it could have been the phone call from Simon about the dead body. That _was_ kind of distracting. But, all the same, I did nothing. I left the stash, and I continued to ignore the noises at night, lying in our bed, Sandburg wrapped around me. Somehow, at the time, it seemed easier.

Now, of course... well, now, it doesn't seem so easy. Turns out those smears of condiments were some kind of tribal graffiti. And toothpicks make pretty good arrows, with bows made of wire twist-ties and dental floss. The pepper, now, that was the real killer... a face full of that when you aren't expecting it? Really takes you down. Especially when it gets in your eyes.

I hope Sandburg gets home soon. Maybe an anthropologist will have better luck negotiating my release than I have.

End


End file.
